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“What is your state of matter this time?” long to inquire of her
Instead I just ask, “‘Sup?” hoping this pot to calm, not stir
Volatility is her trademark, volcanic eruption’s what she lives for
And of her four states of matter, plasma’s what she most adores

Sometimes as ice princess acts like a solid bore
As tsunami wave she’ll drown you and leave you gasping on the shore
And with a little tinder her head does vaporize
But when her state shifts to plasma entire world she does despise

Reasons for her changing are capricious at best
Mother Earth has but four seasons; hands down this mother wins volatility contest
A laughing, smiling moment can so quickly change into a snarl
Needs no impetus for transformation as trouble she gladly borrow

She’ll tell you of the misdeeds that in her past received
And as she gropes for all the diamonds, complains of others greed
She’ll play a loving woman if you worship her blindly
But if you pose the smallest question then kindness falls into the sea

Her facts they do not figure, her figure’s not based on facts
No doubt her proper raiment is a dress made of thumbtacks
A hundred-thousand pinpricks would accompany her embrace
Your myriad tiny puncture wounds would bring a huge smile to her face

Each of us has had misfortunes, outrageous slings and arrows suffered all
But if you wish to dance with one who knows she’s suffered most be assured she’s belle of the ball
Smile she produces when her traps she sets
Are a mere shadow of pleasure from causing pain that she gets

Childish world where anger and ire rule the day
Sad state of being for a toddler, worse for woman of fifty
If you see this lady I hope you’re not beguiled
For though she is an adult, has the soul of wanton child